


Something's Different

by shoutynubs



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meteorbound - Freeform, Nightmares, Panquadromantic Karkat, Post-Retcon, Troll Anime, all that good shit, it's complicated - Freeform, uhh??, unofficial relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 05:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11457243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoutynubs/pseuds/shoutynubs
Summary: In which Dave has a nightmare he isn't used to and the problem is solved by pirated anime.





	Something's Different

You wake yourself up with a jerk, your right hand and leg simultaneously swinging wildly to throw the blankets off you and your bed. It’s only somewhat startling; sleepy cobwebs are still clinging to your mind. You’re mostly just confused as to why your body would think to riot like this when you were perfectly fine being dead asleep just a couple seconds before. 

A second or two later, you’ve woken up fully and come to the realization that your sleepy state of confusion was one of bliss. It would have been better if you had just given up on the prospect of figuring out how you woke up in the first place and just gone back to sleep like a normal person. You become aware of the distinct dampness of your clothes from sweat, how the rest of it is quickly cooling on your skin against the cold dry air of your room. You let out a deep breath and imagine seeing your sigh cloud in the air like mist, but it isn’t that cold in here. Definitely feels like it though, but that’s just you.

Your dream is coming back to you now, and you want to stop it but you know you really can’t do anything about it now. It’s coming into focus in your mind whether you like it or not, the images slowly creeping in and panning out. Every detail seeps in: the fear, the adrenaline and propelling sense of urgency, the distinct feeling of warm blood creeping from your hairline and running down your cheek, the sharp swish and clang of metal against the ground, metal against the cement wall, metal against metal, you had to parry here, dodge, duck, you can’t get past him, you aren’t fast enough—

You sit up. Your eyes sting; your body still wants to go back to sleep more than anything, but you would _really_ rather not. Not at the risk of your brain picking back up where it left off before the more conscious part of it – the part that managed the balance of adrenaline and level-headed lucidity – forced you awake in the first place. You stretch with a low groan, because stretching helps wake you up and keep you awake, and because you can feel the muscles in your back and shoulders still tight and tense.

Something about tonight was different than before. Something about the dream, something that the subconscious of your brain had learned still scared you. These nightmares – which basically reviewed the more thoroughly difficult and probably the most affecting parts of your life, to be perfectly honest – were events of the regular basis. That is to say, they didn’t affect you anymore, not as much as they used to. You weren’t even sure why you still had them. It was probably something to do with the complete lack of stimulating things to do over the past year or so on this godforsaken rock. Maybe your brain was just so bored and unused that those dreams were the only way of coping with the utterly dull reality it was forced to endure and _would_ be forced to endure for another year and a half, give or take. Maybe it was the only thing keeping you from going batshit-fucking-insane, the only thing keeping you from tearing your own hair out, babbling to yourself for hours at a time, and disappearing into the dark, cold halls like some sort of cryptid, only to be seen in a glimpse of fleeting shadows or a shuffling in the vents. What a tragic way to go out. Actually, no, scratch that, that’d be pretty cool. You would become a legend among hermits and agoraphobics, your story told only in whispers over Skype calls or some shit that doesn’t involve actually leaving the house.

But. You still don’t understand why tonight had been different. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary happened to trigger such a reaction; your entire day really had only consisted of expanding Can Town’s suburban housing area with the Mayor and Karkat, remixing and rambling in the common room with Karkat, then settling down to watch some Alternian romcom-action trilogy with Karkat that you’d probably napped most of the way through. Then both of you retired to your separate rooms to sleep properly, _without_ drooling on each other or cutting off the circulation to each other’s limbs (as has happened similarly in the past).

You put your dream on the mental backburner of your mind as another train of thought raced ahead. It wasn’t one you were particularly keen on boarding, but the conductor didn’t seem to care. It was still in your head, and it was still going, regardless of your willingness to let it chug on or not. There’s the whistle blowing, warning all stray thoughts and wandering ideas to get the fuck out of the way of the Gay Express. You cringe at yourself. There it goes anyway.

Karkat, simply put, had invaded every aspect of your life.

From the moment you stepped onto the meteor and met face to face, you had never found anyone simply so – for lack of a better word -- _fascinating._ You had never met anyone so expressive, who spoke so transparently and wore their heart so blatantly on their sleeve. Karkat’s performative and entertaining fury was truly a sight to behold in the flesh, much more different and relieving than scrolling through pages and pages of capitalized grey text. It was amazing, and fucking hilarious. Every tendon, every gesture, every expression and twitch of the troll revealed and demonstrated precisely everything he was thinking and feeling, and accentuated what he was saying; it was perplexing and mesmerizing to meet someone who was so naturally _him._ The sound of him screeching away about some bullshit or another was, in your opinion, way preferable to the choking, solidary quiet of the rest of the meteor, and if you weren’t so aware of yourself, you would have been surprised to realize that no one else really felt the same.

You knew it was weird. At the very least, it was confusing to the others that the two of you began spending so much time together. It was more than a little disconcerting that they wondered this, that you _knew_ they wondered this, and that you weren’t sure you could provide them with an adequate answer yourself. The butting of heads that originally took place for the first couple months or so quickly evaporated with the sudden revelation from Karkat’s behalf that you weren’t actually there to infuriate and egg him on all the time. You were content enough just to listen, but spurring him on was an added, fun bonus if you felt in the mood for witnessing another Karkat patented tantrum from time to time. There were openings for your input as well, of course, and if there weren’t, then you certainly had no problem making them yourself and injecting your own personalized commentary. This would end in hours long discussions on a plethora of subjects, from the purpose of stupid things like shoes or why this character would do that thing in this scene/chapter, to comparisons of each other’s lives on their home planets (before being sucked into the clusterfuck they both agreed they were entirely unprepared for). Said discussions such as these ended up completely distracting the both of you from whatever you two had set out to do in the first place, jumping from subject to subject and opinion to opinion like fire. But that was just how you two meshed and flowed together.

When spending such a concentrated amount of interactions and time together, the two of you quickly became close. In ways, it also wasn’t that surprising. It seemed as if your entire group had split off into pairs: you and Karkat, Rose and Kanaya, Terezi and Vriska – the only exception was Gamzee, but fuck him, he didn’t count as far as you were concerned. You imagine if the two of you hadn’t paired off and ended up getting along as well as you did, this trip would have actually made your brain melt inside your skull and leak out your ears.

It would have also been incredibly lonely. You almost hate it, but you are beyond grateful for his loud, grounding presence. You try not to think about it too much, about how you would have dealt without him.

He’s everywhere, now. Everywhere in your life, everywhere in your head, everywhere in your freaking room. You look around, your eyes having adjusted gradually to the darkness of your room. Little stacks of his paperbacks are piled on your floor, on your desk. So are the DVD cases of his movies, the titles covering the entire front (and sometimes the back) in tiny Alternian text you’ve never been able to unscramble. They’re left over from hangouts that turned into movie nights, that turned into sleep overs. You’re definitely sure at least three of the blankets currently on the floor (with the rest of your comforter) are his. Even his clothes are here – a heather grey shirt dumped in a piled heap on the floor in the corner, and one of his signature sweaters hanging off the corner of your bed that survived your spasm. You’re pretty sure Karkat’s room is also in a similar state, although probably a lot tidier than yours. He’s pretty much a neat freak, and complains loudly about the organized chaos of your own room whenever he visits. He’s long given up trying to clean up after you, though, and his comments don’t have any heat behind them now. Besides, how is it a bad thing when you know where everything is anyway?

You realize, with a shiver that shakes you out of your thoughts for a moment, that it’s actually really fucking cold in your room. Your sweaty body has successfully cooled itself down, except somebody must have accidentally flipped that dial way too far to the left, because now you’re about to catch something like hypothermia. Someone didn’t get the memo that you’re just in your boxers in a mini-world that’s permanently a chilly 65 degrees Fahrenheit. Your fingertips are probably already turning blue. How are you gonna stack cans and build Can Town into a Can Empire without any goddamn fingertips. You lean over the side of the bed, grabbing a fistful of blankets and cloth to swing up and around yourself. You swaddle yourself like a freaking baby, and it probably looks goddamn adorable. Or… pathetic. Probably the latter.

Your thoughts travel back into your nightmare, sucked up before you can decide for yourself where they’re going. Tonight was definitely different. You actually remember what you dreamt about this time, for one, but there was also a factor in the story you weren’t expecting.

Most of the dreams that you remember are the recurring ones. They’re the classics, usually reinventions of your memories that your brain, for some reason, decided to spurt out that night. Running endlessly with something chasing after you, falling down an infinite flight of stairs, fighting a never-ending battle against your guardian brother, etc. When you’re not in dream bubbles, you’re in nightmares, and when you remember your nightmares, it is usually some variation of a never-ending struggle. The concept of forever seems to be your brain’s favorite device of self-torture.

There’s still a nagging, insistent voice in your head that’s telling you something was _different_ tonight, and while, again, you would much rather just let go of any memory of the dream, you’re also too curious for your own good. So the fucked up thought train goes ahead and chugs on, while you sit in the front in your conductor’s cap and contentedly think to yourself, _This couldn’t possibly go wrong!_

But it can and it does, because nothing really goes right when you’re purposefully looking for brain shit to dunk yourself into.

You travel back again.

_There’s the clanging of metal striking against metal in your ears, so loud you can almost feel the vibrations in your teeth. Fast blurs of movement are all around you; you can barely keep up and only narrowly avoid another nasty scar with each parry._

_But someone is here with you. A dark blur of monochrome right by your side, or at your back, defending you with dual weapons when you aren’t quite fast enough to react. His blood spatters on the ground and mixes with yours, because your brother is close and everywhere and you’ll never be fast enough to stop him every time._

_You aren’t fast enough to move out of the way when he shoves his side into your chest. It hurts, and you wheeze as your lungs try to get enough air back into them again. You aren’t fast enough to stop Karkat from jumping in front of you while you’re down. He’s brave, but stupid and angry, and Bro towers over him. You aren’t fast enough to get up in time, and you watch a blade emerge out of the other side of his torso, and with no air in your lungs you can’t even scream._

Wow.

Uh.

Mystery solved.

You’re shaking again, even though the blanket is still wrapped around you. There’s no way you’re going back to sleep now, and you have no one really to blame but yourself.

But you’re okay. You’re in your room, millions of lightyears away. It’s safe and cold and you’re all alone in the dim of your room. Truly and wonderfully alone. The spider webs and fog and nasty shit clinging to your mind gently blow away with a deep inhale, deep exhale. It’s all good.

You ditch the blanket once more when you swing your legs around and hop out of bed. Scooping a random shirt off the floor, a wrinkled towel hanging from the bedframe, and your sunglasses from the nightstand, you make your way towards the bathroom. A hot shower sounds fucking amazing right now. You didn’t have much else to distract yourself with.

\--------------------

At first, you’re not really sure what wakes you up. You’re immediately hit with a pang of embarrassment, despite there not being anyone present in your room right now to witness, because apparently you had dozed off while sorting through the files on your husktop. Now there was a Wordpad open filled with two pages of complete gibberish, the results of half your face laying pressed against the keyboard. You sit up with a groan, trying to rub out the keys’ impressions on your face.

There it is – again, you realize, three knocks on your door that woke you up in the first place. Now a weary irritation runs through you. Who could possibly be at your door and why the fuck would they even want to see you? It couldn’t possibly be Vriska or Terezi – the two come as a pair and neither would bother knocking. Gamzee isn’t let wandering out of anyone’s sight and has long lost interest in you. Maybe it could be Kanaya, or Rose, but the knock sounded a little more heavy-handed. And it couldn’t be Dave – he had just gone to bed in his own room. Or maybe you had been asleep longer than you thought. The Mayor? You’re not even sure he knows where your room is. Thus, the enigma. Try sleuthing this one out, Troll Sherlock Holmes. You have a competitor in the deduction department, that’s for sure.

“Going,” you manage with a sigh, your voice a little husky from sleep. You clear your throat and cross the room to the door, swinging it open with a sharp rebuke and a string of insults ready on your tongue.

You’re a little taken aback to see Dave standing there, and the words falter in your throat. Maybe you really _had_ been asleep for longer than you thought. He’s changed shirts, now sporting a wrinkly red one with fancy white lettering spelling (you squint) “Coca-Cola.” It matches with his plaid pajama pants. You can also see his hair is damp, and can smell the faint scent of soap on him. He looks a bit surprised to see you as well, despite the fact that _he_ was the one who knocked in the first place, jumping a bit with the sudden motion of the door.

When you still don’t speak, he takes the initiative, pulling a hand out of his pocket to wave. “Hey.”

You blink, and your expression finally molds into something that isn’t blank surprise and more fitting: guarded suspicion. “Of course it’s you,” you sigh, only half to yourself. “Who else would go strolling around and pop down to my sad, dank living hole at who knows what hour of the day, just to say ‘hey,’ as if we hadn’t just seen each other no more than two hours ago. This douchehat right here, everyone!” You open the door wider and gesture at him for the invisible audience watching from behind you in your room. Even so, there’s hardly any heat in your words, partly because you’re tired and partly because this sort of banter is just a normal part of the relationship between you two. You step back to let him in.

“Be honored that I’m gracing you in my godly presence again,” he drawls, strolling in leisurely. You shut the door behind him and roll your eyes as he continues. “And even though I’m not wearing any of my traditional attire, believe me, all that holiness is still here in the manifestation of my own goddamn self. The spiritualism in this room just went up 500%. Every step I take on this floor becomes sacred ground. You’re welcome for that -- I don’t have to play charity and bless your room like this. I don’t have to take that time out of my incredibly busy day, but I decided that making sure my best bro’s room is fucking consecrated and free of malevolent spirits was more important than getting my minimum requirement of ten hours of beauty sleep.”

You pinch him in the arm, though he bats your hand away. “You don’t have to rub it in my face at every opportunity you get that you godtiered and received ridiculous pajamas when I didn’t, you shitlord. But see, _I_ made _you,_ so you should be thanking _me_ for your own existence. You’re welcome in advance for your own stupid powers you get to gloat about.” You can feel yourself getting sidetracked, fuck. “And anyways, I know you didn’t float on over here just to waltz in and brag about it. And I definitely know you pink monkeys need just about as much sleep as we do, disregarding our completely fucked over the table circadian rhythms.”

You might have continued, but Dave breaks you off there. You’re both sitting on the edge of your bed now, and he leans in a little closer than you’re comfortable with. “Wait,” he starts, lowering his sunglasses to squint over them at you. You meet his gaze with the best glare you can muster, a little disconcerted. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, or tell him to fuck off, a grin creeps up his face that only makes the scrutiny feel worse. He looks back at your husktop, still open and on your bed. “Were you asleep? Like that?”

“Uh,” you respond intelligently. He must have seen the remnants of the keyboard marks on your face and connected the dots. You rub your cheek as he starts to laugh, flushing against your will. Embarrassment ignites your anger, but combined this makes you more flustered than anything. “Well, of course I was fucking asleep!” you retort defensively. “That was what we agreed upon before parting for the night! I’m not a liar, Dave. I stay true to my word, in order to honor the sacred ‘Bro Code’ you’re always going on and on about.”

His mouth is still twisted in lopsided amusement. “Didn’t look like you were planning on it, though.” He stares at your open husktop again for a moment and seems to realize something, turning back to you. “Shit, I woke you up, didn’t I?”

You glare back at him, quirking an eyebrow. “Yeah, if it wasn’t evident enough already, you did. I thought the meteor had overshot its trajectory early and begun to enter the Skaian atmosphere with all the racket you made pounding on the door like that. Of course that woke me up.”

“Okay, wow, that’s the best example of a hyperbole I’ve ever heard,” he puts on a miffed expression, but it quickly dissolves into something unfamiliar you can’t really identify. “But, y’know, I can leave if you want. Let you be to get your neon green slimy hours of beauty rest.”

Now you can notice something more off about him. He’s sitting a little stiff, shifting and fidgeting as if he couldn’t quite get comfortable. His expression is neutral as always, but even his tone of voice sounded a little too nonchalant, a little too forced. Which brings back up the question as to why he would even be here in the first place.

You sigh, running a hand through your bedhead. You may ask, but he probably won’t tell you. Or he’d just spout more bullshit about being an almighty god, which you now consider to be the worst-case scenario. If he’s going to be dodgy and enigmatic as per usual, then this at least gives you the right to fib a little. “Honestly, I think the only reason I had fallen asleep in the first place was from sheer and absolute boredom rendering my thinkpan completely comatose.” In complete truth, you’re actually tired as shit, but once again caught in the limbo of being absolutely exhausted and not permitting yourself to rest just yet. How could you even possibly think of sleeping with so much stuff to do?

(There is actually nothing to do. At all. All that was sarcasm. You just hate yourself.)

“So,” you continue, begrudgingly, “I guess the intrusion of your company is welcome once again. But this is the last time I will allow it. Next time you’ll be required to schedule an appointment. No more of this walk-in and demand my attention like a petulant newborn bullshit.” 

You swear you can see him visibly relax, an easy half-smile returning to his face. “Aw, how generous of you. I’d say your role as a classic tsundere is one of your most endearing qualities. You could be a main character.”

You growl at him, crawling up your bed to retrieve the husktop. “Don’t use that stupid human term to condense my personality. Fuck you, I am a complex, dynamic character, not a stupid animated trope for the audience to fetishize and to further the plot. Don’t make me change my mind and ban your ass from the premises.”

“I’m not saying you’re _just_ tsundere. I said it was _one_ of your many qualities, and then called you a main character! There are lots of characters that can also be considered tsundere. What kind of main character isn’t amazingly complicated?” He scoots up as well to sit beside you, watching as you sort through and close any unneeded file windows on your computer.

“Literally half of those stupid series you’ve made me watch had ridiculously predictable protagonists with no common sense and ridiculous thought processes to provide either another sexy fanservice scene to the concerningly _large_ portion of perverted viewers in the audience, or to provide an excuse for a certain event to occur in order to set off a domino effect to try and disguise the fact that the story is unrealistic and probably written by a mentally challenged pupa with a concussion. Only your species could pass off something so incredibly mind-numbing like that as entertainment.”  
“Wow. You know, it’s called ‘fiction’ for a reason. Why can’t you ever just sit back and _enjoy _something without analyzing its every story arch in depth? You sound like Rose when she tries to find the sexual undertones in my sentence when I ask her to pass the salt.”__

__“If a story can’t take my analysis and criticism, then it isn’t a good story!”_ _

__“No, it’s just you being unfair, dude,” he groans in exasperation, thumping his forehead against your shoulder. You lose your focus and can’t remember why the tab you’re looking at is open. “You have to give something a chance sometime.” He turns his head up to look at you. “And what about all the shitty movies you have hoarded in your room? I almost never comment about on their many, many, many flaws.”_ _

__You bristle indignantly, and whip your head down to shoot him a glare. “You absolutely do!”_ _

__“Not as much as I should, believe me.”_ _

__You huff, muttering, “You don’t even understand half of what happens most of the time. I always have to explain.”_ _

__He reaches up to lay a pap on your face, and you shift so he doesn’t accidentally poke your eye out instead. “And I appreciate it more than words can describe.”_ _

__You snort. “Fuck off. I’ll lick your hand again.” After a pause, as if he was trying to call your bluff or consider the dire consequences, he dares pap your cheek again. You dart forward as if to honor your promise and he yanks his hand back with a laugh._ _

__“What are you even doing on that janky thing?” he asks, pulling himself back up into a more normal sitting position to better see what you were doing._ _

__“Well, I _was_ sorting through files—“_ _

__“Before you fell asleep.”_ _

__“Stop interrupting me. I was sorting through files for a purpose I cannot remember now. But on that mystery journey, I stumbled upon some illegally downloaded classics from long ago in this folder, here.” You pull it up and wave it around the screen with your cursor. “There are even some here that I haven’t even watched before! I basically just uncovered an entire cavern full of digital treasure. I don’t even know where to begin.” You stare at the screen in barely-contained amazement. The window says there are 87 items in this newly found folder. These could last you the rest of the trip, if you spaced them out evenly._ _

__You can see Dave is at least mildly interested now and staring at the file names, although a majority of them are displayed in Alternian text. “Let’s watch one of the ones that you haven’t seen yet either,” he suggests. “Then at least there’s a tiny, tiny chance that it won’t be absolutely horrible in every way imaginable. There’s still hope that you don’t have shit taste.”_ _

__“Every day you make me wonder why I haven’t hurtled you or myself off this fucking flying rock yet. The last shred of dignity and self-respect that I am still clinging onto keeps telling me I don’t deserve all the bullshit you put me through.” You double-click on a title you do not recognize and do not bother trying to read in its entirety. After a couple of seconds of loading, a new window opens._ _

__Dave reaches for the ceiling dramatically, clenching his fist and shaking it at the ceiling. “Tis but the price of love.” You flush and elbow him in his exposed ribs. He lets out a pained grunt and elbows you back. Fuck his bony, spiky joints; it’s like his body is equipped with organic blades. You reach behind your back to smack a pillow into his face with a satisfying _thwump._ This is going to evolve into a full-fledged pillow fight if you aren’t careful, but all caution has been thrown out the window and into the void of space, rapidly flying away from you and the increasingly violent match this battle is becoming._ _

__Suddenly, you can’t see. Dave has returned the pillow projectile to your own face. It only takes him another second to grab another pillow and start whacking you with it in what seems to be every available area he can reach of you, laughing triumphantly. You pull the pillow off your face and begin to fend off his blows, unleashing a string of curses that mostly consists of a repeated “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck off” to punctuate every hit. You attempt to tackle him, but his long arms shove his own pillow in your face again and you can’t seem to pull away enough to see. Or breathe. He proceeds to tackle _you,_ gaining an unfair advantage by stealing your tactic as well as your sight and pushing you onto your back. At this point, you’re flailing for any bit of him to grab onto, screaming expletives that are muffled by the cushion. But he’s half on you, effectively pinning most of your lower half down while keeping an elbow firmly on the pillow over your face. You’re slowly suffocating. This is such a terrible way to go._ _

__Regardless, you slap his forearm with what diminishing strength you have left. What you want to yell at him goes something along the lines of “FUCK YOU, YOU STUPID, LONG, BONY BAG OF STICKS. WE HAVE BEEN UNFAIRLY MATCHED THIS WHOLE TIME, BECAUSE NOT ONLY HAVE YOU BLINDED ME WITH MY OWN WEAPON FOR MORE THAN HALF OF THIS BRAWL, SO THAT I CANNOT SEE WHAT YOU’RE DOING RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME AND THEREFORE GAINED AN ADVANTAGE, BUT _YOU_ WERE THE PUTRID, IMMATURE WRIGGLER THAT DECIDED TO TAKE MY FRIENDLY LITTLE NUDGE AS A CHALLENGE TO FIGHT TO THE DEATH. NOW HERE I AM, SLOWING SUFFOCATING OVER YOUR IMPOSSIBLY IMMENSE WEIGHT, NOW ONLY PRAYING NOT FOR YOU TO LET ME GO, BUT TO ESCAPE INTO THE SWEET RELEASE OF DEATH, BECAUSE THAT IS THE ONLY WAY I WILL BE ABLE TO LEAVE THIS JAIL CELL OF A ROOM AND RID MYSELF OF YOUR PRESENCE FOREVER. I WILL LAUGH GLEEFULLY IN FULLY-REALIZED DELIGHT AS MY DREAM-GHOST ESCAPES FROM THIS SAD, DETERIORATING VESSEL THAT IS MY BODY AND FLOATS INTO THE FUCKING VOID, CONTENT AS ALL SHIT, AS LONG AS IT IS PUTTING AS MANY LIGHT-YEARS OF DISTANCE BETWEEN IT AND YOU AS IT CAN MANAGE. I WILL FLOAT FOREVER IN THE VOID, DRIFTING BETWEEN DREAM BUBBLES, AND ACHIEVE INNER PEACE, ACHIEVE FUCKING NIRVANA, ZEN, WHATEVER THE FUCK. I WILL RISE HIGHER THAN YOU CAN EVER FLY AND LEAVE YOU AND YOUR DIRTY FIGHTING MOVES BEHIND, BECAUSE YOU ARE LOWER THAN LOW, DAVE. YOU BLINDED ME AND KILLED ME WITH MY OWN SLEEP CUSHION JUST TO COME OUT VICTORIOUS IN THE PETTY TUSSLE THAT _YOU_ DECIDED TO TAKE TOO FAR IN THE FIRST PLACE. AND YOU WILL WEEP FOR MY LOSS, AND CRADLE MY LIFELESS AND COOLING CORPSE IN YOUR ARMS, AND WONDER HOW YOU COULD HAVE DONE SUCH A MONSTROUS THING IN THE FIRST PLACE. AND YOU WILL HAVE TO DEAL WITH THAT GUILT FOR ALL ETERNITY, BECAUSE YOU ARE IMMORTAL, AS HAS BEEN BURNED AND EMBEDDED INTO THE KNOWLEDGE OF MY THINKSPONGE FROM YOUR INCESSANT BRAGGING. AND IT WOULD BE THE MOST FITTING PUNISHMENT, AND MY DREAM-GHOST WILL LAUGH, AND FLIP YOU OFF FROM THE VOID WITH NO REMORSE.” You would say that if you could, but you can’t, because you’re dying, because your speaking and breathing orifices are being blocked by fabric and stuffing, so all the comes out is a string of weak, incomprehensibly muffled yelling.  
Dave, for some reason, deems it acceptable at this point to shush you. This infuriates you more. Fortunately for you, his grip and weight on the pillow seem to have lessened considerably. Unfortunately for you, the most you can do is push the pillow out of your face and gasp, drinking in sweet, sweet air. You can feel Dave rolling his eyes at you, as if he wasn’t just killing you dead, and you are just being melodramatic. However, you certainly are not. In fact, your short, miserable life flashed before your eyes within milliseconds, and you have seriously gained a new appreciation of the meaning of your life. Your near-death experience has gotten you all introspective and everything._ _

__Once you’ve caught your breath, you can see what has gotten Dave to stop his rampage. He’s still on top of you, but now staring at the glowing, colorful screen of your husktop, mouth agape in amazement. You can’t exactly turn over with him on you, so you crane your neck to reduce the glare on your screen from your angle. There is cheery, upbeat music coming from the speakers of you husktop to accompany the bright, animated intro of the cartoony trolls dancing and posing across your screen. And jesus fuck, does it look like a species swap of one of Dave’s very own “animated classics” you were just complaining about not even ten minutes ago. Your own mouth opens on its own accord, but you have no words to react to or even _describe_ what you’re looking at here._ _

__Dave, absolutely enraptured, sums it up pretty well. “Holy fucking shit,” he laughs, incredulous. “’Only my species’ my fucking dick, dude.”_ _

__“This--this is-“ you sputter, trying to find some logical way to defend yourself. You finally push him off you, and sit up to squint at the screen. “This sort of content – this-this medium – shouldn’t even exist! There were no animators on Alternia! There’s no way that kind of job would even exist! So how the fuck—“_ _

__“How the fuck does this exist?” Dave finishes with you in unison. You’re both asking the husktop screen, but it does not reveal its secrets. It just keeps on playing, now focusing on an animated troll girl in a school uniform. The trashy parallels of these sort of shows seem universal throughout Paradox Space. Great._ _

__You reach for the husktop, pulling it closer to make it easier to squint at. “How in the fuck did I even find this? And why would I download it?” You ask this mostly to yourself, moving to fiddle with the open windows of computer files again._ _

__“Wait,” Dave grabs your wrist, halting your cursor’s movement ~~as well as your bloodpusher a little.~~ “Dude, we have to watch this in its entirety. You already opened it. We have to finish what we started.”_ _

__You scoff. “That’s fucking ridiculous. _This_ is fucking ridiculous. Look at it! I’m not wasting any more of my valuable time on this kind of brain-numbing garbage.”_ _

__He cocks an eyebrow at you in response. “Are you saying that your species’ ‘ _superior_ ’ entertainment culture, as in this anime, is worse than the stuff us humans have made? Because it almost sounded like you were dissing your own kind of a second.” And he finally retracts his fucking hand, that lingering son of a bitch._ _

__He’s baiting you. You can tell. You know better than to give in but you won’t give him the satisfaction of being right, especially about this particular subject you were just arguing about earlier. “If I were saying anything at all,” you huff, “it would be that this series is probably slightly _less_ bad than any of the best ‘anime’ your species would be able to conjure. But what I’m _actually_ saying is that, fuck you, this is going to be the best fucking ‘anime’ you’ll ever see in your miserable, infinite life. Nothing will be able to top it in the history of your existence, and you will have to live with that lingering disappointment for-fucking-ever. Now scoot back so my spinal column doesn’t fucking collapse while we discover the absolute masterpiece we’re about to witness.”_ _

__If a grin could be loud, Dave’s would be destroying your auditorial sponges right now. Your chest flutters again and you scowl back at him, mentally clamping down on your betraying bloodpusher. You hand your device to him as he scoots back and adjusts the pile of cushions and blankets shoved against the wall that act as a backrest, and stand up to get the lights. You grab a half-open bag of human junk chips on your way back and drop them on Dave’s lap. He appreciatively shifts over to make more room for you, and you try to ignore his annoying, wet crunching and his arm resting behind you._ _

__\--------------------_ _

__You might be the fucking Knight of Time himself, but Time has lost all meaning in this room._ _

__With only the light from the bug laptop, Karkat’s warmth next to you, and the horrifically intriguing plot of the troll anime you are both watching, it’s like the entire room that wasn’t the bed you were laying on became a wormhole. Honestly, you didn’t even know what fucking day it was. You had attempted to keep track of how much time had passed with the number of episodes you watched, but quickly lost count somewhere around 14, interjected with speculation and commentary between each gap it took to select the next part._ _

__Now, you aren’t really an anime kind of guy. If someone asked you about that shit, you would probably point them in the direction of John Egbert, local certified weeb. There are some good ones out there though. Any normal person can appreciate a work from Studio Ghibli, and you’re acquainted with some more well-known series from your time. But watching this Alternian production was like watching a hybrid of Madoka Magica magic girls with Studio Ghibli’s animation skills and a Corpse Party level of gorey violence. And you would never admit it to Karkat, even on your nonexistent deathbed, with him dripping pretty pink tears on you and asking about your final regrets and wishes, but you were absolutely fucking _enthralled_ by it. But there is no way you would admit that now and let him think he was right. He would jabber on and on about it for the rest of this damn death trip._ _

__You know a long time has passed though. Despite how fascinating and intriguing the plot is, which would already take hours to even describe in typed text, your eyes burn. Some of your blinks leave your eyes closed a little longer than they need to be, and you can tell Karkat is struggling next to you as well. His chin jerks up occasionally whenever he catches himself drifting into a micronap. It’s kind of funny to watch, and just a little sad in a cute way. He’s trying so hard. Your heart clenches a bit as his head dips again, rolling and brushing against your shoulder before catching himself once again. Without your shades, he sees you side-eyeing his losing battle and groans, leaning back and rubbing his face. You can’t really tell in the dim lighting, but you would bet your favorite finger (middle, right hand) he’s flushed._ _

__“Alright, Droopy Eyes McSleepy Pants,” you sigh, pausing the episode and closing the laptop. “It’s beddy-bye time.” You stretch, slumping back._ _

__Karkat rubs his eyes, glaring at you between his fingers. “Don’t patronize me. We’ve been watching for at _least_ 8 hours straight, and I’m comfortable and warm, so excuse me for being normal and needing to sleep every once in a while. It’s your fault for keeping me awake this long in the first place.”_ _

__You hold your hands up at his accusation. “Look, I didn’t tell you that you couldn’t catch a nap in between episodes. In fact, that’s basically what you’ve been doing for the past half hour. Don’t blame me for your inability to resist the sweet, alluring temptation of sleep that seems to control you so easily. Not my fault I’m more committed to this than you are.”_ _

__He stretches as well, voice strained, face screwed up. “My rectal cavity you are.” He sighs, leaning back on your arm and into you as he slides down the pillow pile as well. “How long has it been I’m about to pass out why did we do this,” he mutters into his hands, sounding hilariously resigned._ _

__“It hasn’t been 8 hours, that’s for sure. Your sense of time and how it actually passes is whack as shit, dude. Melodrama readings are off the charts, and this is with me compensating for your normally active levels of exaggeration. Are you really that tired?” You poke him gently in the cheek with your free arm. He weakly and belatedly swats your hand away with a whine, eyes still closed._ _

__“Don’t fucking touch me,” he mumbles, despite the fact that as he speaks he is turning and shifting for a more comfortable position between you and the pillows and blankets. Despite the fact that now he is way too pressed up against you to mean any part of that sentence in the slightest. He’s really warm. You’re burning eyes slide shut. You would probably feel more totally out of your depth if you were more conscious._ _

__“Mmm,” you hum, momentarily lost because now it is so much harder for you to think coherent thoughts with your eyes closed. “You are literally the most snuggled up shit I’ve ever had next to me ever right now.” And you laugh because that almost doesn’t make any sense, and he laugh-snorts because he knows you confused yourself immediately._ _

__Then you can feel his arm sliding around your middle as he lets out a tiny sigh next to you, and even though it’s just the two of you alone in his room in the dark, which is definitely not a first-time experience, your face momentarily transforms into its own space heater to rival Karkat’s warmth. Similarly, your traitorous heart clenches again. Then, the mini motor in his chest kicks into gear, gently vibrating him and, by physical association, you. Although the general consensus (meaning you and Rose) has agreed upon “purr” as the term, it sounds more like the muffled version of a summer cicada. It kicks up a few notches in intensity when you overlap Karkat’s arm to stick your fingers in his hair. You wonder, dimly and contentedly in the back of your mind, why you ever bother walking back to your cold, quiet room to sleep alone._ _

__“Dave?” You are pulled from the blurred edges of sleep by Karkat’s husky voice as it battles with his own bug-purring to remain audible._ _

__“Hmm?” you sigh, shifting your head. His hair tickles your face and smells faintly of coffee._ _

__There’s a moment of silence. Maybe he fell asleep before he could finish the thought. Then you can hear his lips part and he finishes his question. “Why did you come back?”_ _

__You had hoped he would forget to ask. “What, you don’t enjoy my constant companionship?” You joke._ _

__He shifts, craning his head to look up at you. You can see his half-lidded eyes glinting in the dark. It’s not as freaky the hundredth time around. “Did you have another nightmare?” He sounds more awake now, enough to display the tint of concern in his voice._ _

__“Uh,” you hesitate shakily on the decision to tell him the truth. You didn’t think he would hit it spot on so easily. You had made sure you looked fine and presentable and casual when you came. What had you done to blow your cover?_ _

__Unfortunately for you, this seems just enough for Karkat to tell anyway, because he goes back to resting his forehead against your chest, holding you a little tighter than he was before. You almost hate it. And you hate the part of you that doesn’t. Different parts of you hate other parts of you as your entire body broils in guilt. You feel stupid for even trying to hide the fact in the first place. You feel like the desert menu at a Chilli’s._ _

__“Can you tell me about it?” he asks this time. He asks every time, just a little differently._ _

__“Just the usual,” you shrug. “Doesn’t really matter now.”_ _

__He knows you. He knows you’re leaving something out. Why else would you be here? “The Usual” doesn’t bring you to his room at ungodly hours. He knows this and he knows you, but he doesn’t push any further. He knows your lie, but he knows your truth, too, and he won’t demand an explanation for either. You almost shed a tear from the sweet relief it all brings you. God damn._ _

__“I’m glad you’re here,” is all he murmurs. It’s a special thing to witness him so soft and quiet and honest. It clenches your heart again._ _

__You open your mouth to respond but are a bit taken aback when his hand shifts from your side to your face, brushing your cheek. He slips it from your cheek to your jawline to the back of your neck, leaving a burning trail in his wake you wish you could control. His gentle pressure prompts you to curl down, and he rises to meet you, pressing a gentle kiss to your still-parted lips. You can feel a hint of his vibrations on your mouth. Fireworks go off in your chest like this is the first time. Your heart rapid-fire pumps them through your bloodstream, flooding your body in warmth. When Karkat pulls away and you open your eyes, you’re almost surprised to find you haven’t gained any Kanaya-esque bioluminescence. Kissing him isn’t new, but the flood of feelings that comes with it surprises you every time. Sometimes it’s slow and manageable waves lapping at your mind. Right now it is an overwhelming riptide ready to sweep you away._ _

__“Thank you,” you whisper. Anything above that would betray the tremble in your voice._ _

__He nestles back down against you and squeezes you in response. He knows what you mean._ _

**Author's Note:**

> i have heard the people suffering during these times of the davekat fic drought and have answered their call  
> anyways i wrote this to cope with some of my own shit over the course of about three months and only worked on it late at night because that was the only time i could bear to look at it SO sorry if its shitty and ooc. feel free to constructively criticize?? i wont cry i swear  
> a big thank you!! to my wonderful gf who beta'd this and made me promise to finish it. shes an angel and i love her so much??  
> thank you and good night


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